Code Duello
by leoandsnake
Summary: Or four times Eames kissed Arthur. PWP. A/E, obviously.


The first time they kiss (_they_ being the forger and the point man) is when Cobb says to Arthur, "Go find Eames for me, would you?"

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Arthur is not a detective in a noir novel, and it takes hours of searching the seediest gambling dens in Paris until he sees Eames lingering in an alley with his hands down someone's pants.

Arthur tells the cab driver to hold on a minute and tosses some euros at him.

"Hey," he calls out.

They both turn and Eames backs up a little. The _someone_ is a young guy who looks at Arthur with a dumb, deer-in-headlights expression. Eames mutters something while lighting a cigarette, and his anonymous charge beats a path back into the bar.

"Evening, Arthur."

"Asshole," Arthur mutters.

Eames blows a ring of smoke at him. "You're too kind."

"Cobb's looking for you. He wants to discuss something with the whole team."

"As thrilled as I am to be a participant in the circular firing squad -"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Get in the taxi, Mr. Eames."

Eames's eyebrows pop up and he lets out a slow laugh. "Something wrong?"

Arthur knows that lying to Eames is an exercise in futility, but it's worth a try. "No."

"You're _jealous_."

"Get in the -"

"You're jealous of the shady fellow in the alley, yeah?"

"- taxi."

"This is really very flattering."

Eames saunters up to him, loosening his tie. Arthur takes half of a step back and Eames grabs him by the jaw and lays one on him like a porn star.

Arthur's lips soften and his mouth parts slightly. Eames takes it as an invitation to slip his tongue in, rude bastard that he is, and heat spreads through Arthur's stomach like a shot of vodka. He pulls away as Eames rubs up against him dirtily.

"You're drunk," Arthur says, wiping his mouth. "Get -"

"In the taxi?" Eames smiles slyly and grabs a handful of Arthur's ass. Arthur jumps.

"Loosen up, darling," he adds, as he slides into the back seat.

/

The second time they kiss, Ariadne walks in on them.

Not in on _them_, per se, because Arthur hears her coming - the warehouse floor echoes - and hides under the bed. Eames does the courageously shameless thing by pulling his boxers back on and staying put. He doesn't share Arthur's fear of being outed by winsome prodigies.

"Oh," Arthur hears her say. "I didn't, um, I didn't know you were in here."

The bed creaks as Eames shifts uncomfortably. "I was just..."

"Naked?" Ariadne says.

Eames clears his throat.

"I can see your foot, Arthur," she adds.

Arthur's silent for a moment, then: "Could you please hand me my pants?"

/

The third time, Eames is a woman.

It's his dream, because Arthur is not and will never be the creative one. It's a woodland landscape, something out of a fairy tale, and Eames is dragging him through the forest when suddenly his hand changes while clasped in Arthur's - starts shrinking. His palms soften, and his nails grow longer. Arthur looks up and sees a blonde woman turn and grin at him.

"Bloody good-looking, isn't she? Might use her on Fischer."

He pulls Arthur down in a patch of dappled sunlight. His back hits the grass and Eames straddles him, long blonde hair brushing his cheek.

"What do girls _do,_" he wonders aloud, "without hard-ons?"

"I'm sure they cope."

"It's vexing," Eames says with a chuckle. Abruptly he's himself again, and he's kissing Arthur, slowly undoing the hand-engraved cufflinks with one hand, unbuttoning Arthur's waistcoat with the other. Arthur can feel Eames smiling against his lips.

/

The fourth time, Arthur's taking a shower in his tiny apartment that overlooks the Champ de Mars when the front door creaks open. He lunges for the piece on his bathroom counter, but Eames announces himself with a clearing of the throat.

"Great," Arthur says, finger slipping off the trigger. He wraps a towel around his waist and Eames leans on the bathroom doorway, clad in paisley.

"Picked your lock, darling," he says, stroking his stubble.

"The chain, too?" Arthur mutters.

"Rubber band trick. Picked it up in Sicily. They're all criminals down there."

Arthur slips his watch back on. It snags on the hair of his arm, and he winces. Eames moves closer and slips his hands over Arthur's waist.

The shower's still running. Arthur slides his thumbs into Eames's beltloops and drags him forward under the faucet. Drops of water cling to Eames's eyelashes. One runs like a tear from his nose to the curve of his philtrum, to his lips.

Arthur kisses him slowly, both hands cupping his jaw.

The towel, soaked with water, is sliding down his hips. It falls to the floor of the shower. Arthur tenses and Eames laughs and flings it over the glass, sliding an arm around Arthur's neck, pressing him against the wall.

Their crotches are practically sharing airspace. Eames goes doe-eyed and his hips buckle.

Arthur murmurs, "Get on your knees."

Eames smirks and begins sliding off his pants. His belt buckle hits the drain with a clink, and he sinks to the floor. Arthur presses his thumb to Eames's lips, strokes the curve of his mouth. The swollen part where Arthur had bitten him.

"You're a damned tease," Eames whispers.

It doesn't sound like a bad thing, the way he says it.


End file.
